


Hello, Heaven (you are tunnel-lined with yellow lights)

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, Feminization, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Humiliation, Kink, M/M, Panties, Post TXF, Praise Kink, Princess Park Era, Sugar Daddy Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:25:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: “Oh, yeah?” Harry asks, playing dumb as he helps Louis out of his coat before hanging it up. “A new phone charger? Mine’s still broken, the electrical tape didn’t work.”Louis makes a face at him, all arched brows and tongue pressed into cheek. “Oh a phone charger? Is that what you need?” he quips lightly, voice high and lilting in this sing-song way that’sso, so high and gentle that it’s scary. He’s putting on a show for Harry, and Harry’sthrilledwith it, already shivery and hot-cheeked because Louis got him something naughty, and they’retalking about itwithout really talking about it, wrapping it up in layers of mundanity and domesticity, still so excited to play the role of two Adults living in their new Adult flat in London that they bought with their own money from the X Factor. Harry’s living an unimaginably glamourous life sosuddenly, and Louis and his gifts are right in the middle of it, the heart of his every dream.--Or, Louis buys Harry things sometimes.





	Hello, Heaven (you are tunnel-lined with yellow lights)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! So I did an ask meme awhile ago where I had my followers send me prompts and I'd write a Drabble. I'm terrible at drabbles though so they all ended up too long, but this was the longest! I cleaned it up and sent it to my beta, so I could post it here for all of you. 
> 
> Also, this is a gift for Jen, who lives to read about Louis calling Harry baby. 
> 
> enjoy!

“I got you a present,” Louis says before he even says _hello, how was your day, babe,_ so Harry _knows_ what the present is, or at least what _sort_ or present it is. There's also a sharp, lethal mischief in the dark of Louis’s eye, and that combination of cheekiness and heat is always a dead give away. That Louis’s plotting something, has been for awhile now, and Harry’s going to _get it_ , whatever it is.

“Oh, yeah?” Harry asks, playing dumb as he helps Louis out of his coat before hanging it up. “A new phone charger? Mine’s still broken, the electrical tape didn’t work.” 

Louis makes a face at him, all arched brows and tongue pressed into cheek. “Oh, a phone charger? Is that what you need?” he quips lightly, voice high and lilting in this sing-song way that’s _so_ , so high and gentle that it’s scary. He’s putting on a show for Harry, and Harry’s _thrilled_ with it, already shivery and hot-cheeked because Louis got him something naughty, and they’re _talking about it_ without really talking about it, wrapping it up in layers of mundanity and domesticity, still so excited to play the role of two Adults living in their new Adult flat in London that they bought with their own money from the X Factor. Harry’s living an unimaginably glamourous life so _suddenly_ , and Louis and his gifts are right in the middle of it, the heart of his every dream. 

“Mmmhmm,” he hums, letting Louis steer him to the couch in their sunken living room. They stumble down the stairs, Louis grabbing his Selfridges shopping bag and rifling through it along the way, and Harry’s breath catches as he pulls out a little cream-coloured gift bag from inside.

“Look like a phone charger to you?” he asks, handing it to Harry, who has just dropped onto the couch, stomach in eager knots. He has no idea what it could be beyond that it’s dirty, maybe some lube or another plug, a bigger one this time since he’s getting better at taking whatever Louis has to give him. He wonders if you can even _get_ plugs at Selfridges, if Louis stopped somewhere else, or if this is just, like, the world’s fanciest diamond-encrusted plug or something.

“No,” Harry says, carefully smoothing out the tissue paper, fingers slow with awe, with how much he loves Louis. “Looks like something more fun.” 

“Well, go on, then...open it, yeah?” Louis prods, sitting down beside him and nudging his thigh with his knee.

Harry does as he’s told, carefully taking the smaller, swaddled package inside the bag and tenderly unwrapping it. The instant his fingers touch something smooth and silky, he _knows_ what this is. He and Louis have _talked_ about it before, about how he likes to look pretty even though looking pretty _embarrasses him_ , about how feeling embarrassed turns him on, about how he just _knows_ that if he ever put on a pair of panties he’d mess them up inside because there’s so, _so_ much about the idea that’s titillating, so much humiliation and delicacy all rolled up into one. _Would love to see you in a pair, if i’m honest_ , Louis had said, _months_ ago, so Harry had sort of forgotten. But now, with the lace brushing his knuckles as he gasps and holds them up, his cheeks _burn_ , and he remembers everything. “Are they…did you get me knickers?” he whispers. 

“I did,” Louis confirms smugly. “Not sure if they’re your size, but it’s more the thought that counts, and you’re gonna look fit in anything, whether it fits you or not….so yeah. Go try ‘em on,” he says, leaning forward and nuzzling into Harry’s neck before he presses a rough kiss there. “Wanna see you, pretty baby.” 

Harry’s heart stops, and he makes a fist around the panties, loving how they’re tiny and thin enough to crumple up in his palm. “Okay,” he breathes.

He doesn't even think to go into the bathroom to change into them, he just unbuckles his belt, undoes the button of his trousers, and shimmies out of it all right there on the couch, cock already chubbing up, getting thick and heavy against his stomach. He has undressed in front of Louis more times than he could ever count, but in moments like this, it feels so charged, so _different_ , like a ritual. Louis’s watching his every move so attentively, chewing his lips, pupils big and flint black, the blue of his eyes edged out into a thin, icy ring. He looks so _hot_ , and furthermore Harry _feels_ hot under the burn of his gaze, even if he isn’t stripping sexily or anything, just rolling his pants down his hairy thighs, which are gonna look absolutely ridiculous in these panties. “I should have shaved,” he mumbles, rubbing his palms over the hair, making it go against the grain. “Sorry it’ll look funny.” 

“No, it’ll look fine,” Louis assures him, reaching out and smoothing the hair back, touch gentle and reassuring. “You’re so lovely...love your thighs, love every inch of you.” 

Harry squirms under the attention, un-crumpling the panties and holding them up, getting his first good look. They’re black with red accents, scalloped lace at the waistband, and a little bow in the front, which makes him blush so hard in mortification that he gets _dizzy_. His cock twitches against his stomach, and Louis notices, making a muted, reflexive sound. “God, look at you, so messy already. Does it get you hot, thinking about putting these on for me? Knowing I’m gonna be looking at you, getting my mouth all over you, making you come in them?” 

“Fuck,” Harry whimpers. “If I come in them, I’ll ruin them...and they’re so nice.” 

“And I’ll just buy you another pair,” Louis shrugs, and something about that makes Harry’s insides clench and twist almost painfully. Not just Louis buying him things but buying him things with the sole intention of having Harry _ruin them_ , so that he can have the pleasure of replacing them. “We’re posh pop stars now, so I can spend all my money on you if I want to. Buying you pretty things, fucking them up, getting you more...you’re mine, yeah?” he continues, eyes getting darker and cheeks getting pinker as he goes on, either because talking like this is turning him on, or seeing what it does to _Harry_ , who’s fucking beside himself with arousal, is turning him on. 

“Like…like, a sugar daddy?” Harry asks breathlessly, and as soon as it leaves his mouth it feels so dirty and taboo and exciting that he very nearly gasps at himself, insides clutching, cock so wet that it’s dripping on him. 

“Sure, yeah,” Louis says, licking his lips, eyes trained on Harry’s cock. “Like that.”

Harry shivers. He isn’t sure why those particular words feel so _filthy_ , if it’s because sugar babies are usually girls (at least from what he knows about that world, which isn’t much), and the idea of being Louis’s _girl_ always makes him squirm in dual longing and humiliation, or if it’s the idea of Louis _spending_ on him; Louis, who always has the power, relinquishing it in this tiny, impractical, deliberate way. Regardless, he's a mess over it, and it takes him several tries to get his feet into the leg holes of the knickers because he keeps missing. 

“Need help?” Louis giggles, standing up and pulling the panties up Harry’s long legs in a single, dizzying motion. “Lift,” he orders when he gets to Harry’s hips, and Harry does, cheeks burning, because dressing himself in the panties that Louis bought him is one thing, but _letting Louis dress him in the panties he bought him_ is entirely different and twice as hot. He feels so loved and cared for and _pretty_ and _embarrassed_ as he arranges his hard package in the thin, too-narrow crotch of the panties, pulling the elastic up over his bum. He’s hanging out no matter what he does, at least in front, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind. “Fuck, baby, you look so good, so big and wet in those little things. Jesus.” 

“I look okay?” Harry asks shakily, arching his back off the couch so that he can admire himself. “Are they on right?” 

“You look perfect,” Louis marvels, reaching between Harry’s bent thighs and cupping his cock, adjusting the fabric over it a little bit so that it’s pointing straight up Harry’s tummy, the elastic hitting him just under the crown, holding him in place. It looks obscene and feels so sensitive that it nearly hurts, and Harry loves it, whining, eyes shutting tight against the sudden rush of sensation. “Stand up so I can see your arse,” Louis orders, sitting back on the couch and unbuttoning his trousers, freeing his cock so that he can touch himself while Harry rises on unsteady legs. 

Harry looks over his own shoulder at his arse, which actually looks pretty cute, if he’s honest. “They fit back there, at least.” 

“God, your bum...the sweetest, most perfect bum,” Louis rasps, wanking slowly and methodically, twisting his grip at the tip to tease himself. “Just wanna pull you apart and taste you,” he groans. 

“Fuck,” Harry hisses, voice low and rough. “Want me to..? Should I get on my stomach?” 

Louis shakes his head and gestures to the unoccupied half of the couch. “No…want you on all fours, with your bum out. Arch your back and really push it out for me, yeah? So I can see?” 

And Harry’s thinking about ruining these knickers, about destroying something that Louis bought him because Louis _wants_ him to, about having enough pretty pairs of lace panties that he could wear one each day of the week under his clothes and no one but Louis would know, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised when it comes out. “Yes, Daddy,” he murmurs, as he arranges himself on the couch just how Louis ordered, the words falling out of his mouth without him even thinking about it. It just feels _right_. 

“ _What_ did you say?” Louis asks sharply, the hand he was reverently smoothing down Harry’s arse stuttering to a sudden stop and squeezing. “Did you just call me daddy?” 

The squeeze feels good, so Harry twists and keens, riding the wave of mortification as he realizes what he did, the full set of implications that comes along with letting something like that just _slip out_. “M’sorry,” he whispers, arching his back deep and filthy, cock leaking all over his stomach, so much that it’s collecting and dripping down onto the couch underneath him. “I didn’t—”

“That’s so fucking hot, Harry, you’re so perfect... _love_ you calling me that, would _love_ to be your daddy,” Louis rushes to tell him, slurring his words, getting his hands all over Harry like he doesn’t know where to feel him first, what he wants most. He mauls up his back and down to his sides, gripping Harry’s soft bits at his hips before smoothing down his thighs and digging his fingers into them fiercely. “You make me so fucking hard...can hardly believe you.” 

“Daddy,” Harry tries again, heat spiking wild and sharp in his gut as he says it. He wiggles his bum back and forth a bit, cheeks burning at the knowledge that Louis can _see him_ , see the outline of his cheeks through the sheer, black fabric. “You said you were gonna lick me.” 

“Is that what you want, baby? Want me to eat you out, get you all messy and wet?” Louis teases, pressing his face into the sweat-damp ditch of Harry’s back and kissing him there. “Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you’re fucking calling me _daddy_ , Hazza, you’re mad. Like something from a porno.” 

“You like it, though?” Harry asks, just to check in, to clarify, because _he_ certainly likes it, even if every time he says it, the wave of embarrassment is so enormous that it almost bowls him over, makes him come. “It’s okay?” 

“More than okay,” Louis assures him, kissing down the swell of his bum, roughly squeezing one cheek while he gets his teeth in the other, biting Harry through the layer of thin, gauzy fabric. “Hottest thing ever...you in these knickers, bent over, calling me daddy, begging for my tongue…fuck. Could come right here, just like this, looking at you.” 

“Fuck,” Harry whimpers, legs shaking a little with the exertion of holding himself up. “Don’t come yet, not yet, please.” 

Louis laughs, breath hot and sudden on Harry’s crack through his knickers, and, _god_ , just that feels so good, so dirty. “Oh, you’re telling me what to do now, when to come? I think daddies get to come whenever they want, yeah?” he asks, and he’s half-joking, but Harry feels deliciously scolded anyway, stomach in knots as he nods. 

“Yes, daddy,” he admits, and then Louis curses, pulling the knickers up into Harry’s crack like a thong, pushing his cheeks apart, and affixing his mouth over the fabric scraping against his hole, wet and hungry. Harry cries out, arching his back and pushing into the heat of Louis’s mouth. The panties are thin and sheer enough that he can feel the slickness of Louis’s tongue _through_ them, can feel him lapping sloppily at his hole, prodding at him so that the fabric drags over his rim. “Oh, fuck, please,” he whines, bucking down into the warm palm that Louis’s cupping his cock with, reaching between his thighs to feel him, to cover him, and, _god_ , Louis’s just so _good_ , knows what he wants and how to give it to him. “Daddy, daddy,” he chants, a prayer, a litany. 

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, getting his fingers under the fabric and pulling it aside so that he can lick Harry out for real. “Feels good, baby?” 

“So good, so— _fuck_ , Lou,” he yelps as he feels Louis push him open on his tongue before flattening it out and licking all over his rim, sloppy and wet, just to get him dripping. “S’perfect.” 

Louis lets go of his cock and directs, “Touch yourself, bring yourself off while I eat you out, yeah? And call me daddy...wanna hear you the whole time, not just when you come.” 

Harry whimpers, knowing full well that he won’t last long like this, that he’s _always_ a mess when Louis eats him out, let alone when _daddy_ eats him out, with his knickers pulled to the side. He _gasps_ , it’s so dirty, cock flexing in his own palm as he wraps his fingers around his dick, leaning his weight into the back of the couch so that he can support himself one-armed. “Daddy, please, your mouth feels _so_ good...daddy, m’so wet,” he moans, cheeks burning, hole fluttering under Louis’s wide, desperate licks. 

Louis pulls back with a groan, rubbing his thumb over Harry’s sloppy hole. “When you come, come in your panties, baby, make a mess of them so daddy can see you like that, see you ruined,” he croaks before ducking down and pressing a single kiss right on Harry’s center before fitting his mouth around his rim and _sucking_. 

Too overheated and breathless to speak beyond the endless prayer of _daddy_ , all Harry can do in response is to keen wordlessly and nod, working his cock fast and messy, so _so_ close that his whole body is slick with sweat, trembling all over. He stops wanking just long enough to trap the crown of his cock under the waistband of his knickers, and the pressure, the roughness, the feel of Louis eating him out so relentlessly and noisily that there’s spit dripping down his crack all flatline into a single sensation that pushes him over the edge. “Fuck… _daddy_ ,” he chokes out, doing as he was told, come shooting off in the cage of lace and silk and smearing hot and messy into his pubes, on his stomach, down his thighs. 

He immediately collapses onto the couch once he finishes, a pliant, shuddering mess as Louis rolls him over, pushing his forgotten shirt up to kiss his stomach, his heaving ribcage. “So lovely, the most perfect, gorgeous thing…look at you,” he whispers, sounding devastated, and after he sucks a fierce, bitey kiss onto Harry’s lips (he tastes like spice and musk and arse, and it’s so fucking hot that Harry almost cries), he clambers down onto the floor, rubbing his face into the front of Harry’s sticky, ruined knickers, sucking the come through the sheer fabric and groaning at the taste. 

Harry’s cock twitches under the continued ministrations, still thick and sensitive, and he manages to work up enough strength in his neck to crane his head up off the arm of the couch to _watch_ Louis mouthing over him as his fist works furiously between his own thighs. He’s moved by it, moved that he could bring Louis to his knees like that, and his heart catches when Louis comes, a sharp, strangled noise huffing out into Harry’s knickers, perfect and intimate. “Daddy,” he asks shakily, stunned that he can even _say_ that word after finishing. “Was I good?” 

“Perfect,” Louis sighs, rubbing his hand up Harry’s thigh and squeezing, “Sweetest, sexiest, very best boy,” he adds. Then, grinning as he fits his index fingers into the leg of Harry’s panties, “You made a mess of my present, though.” 

Harry smiles cheekily, all dimples and satisfaction and the overwhelming pang of heat you forever feel in your chest when you’re young and in love and your boyfriend is on his knees between your spread legs, telling you that you’re sweet and sexy and looking up at you like there’s nothing better in the whole world. “Buy me another, then,” he says, snapping the waistband against his hipbone coyly. “And another and another.”


End file.
